


my lizard, my lively writher

by De_Nugis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, nature facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De_Nugis/pseuds/De_Nugis
Summary: Cas has concerns and comparisons.





	my lizard, my lively writher

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Set in a post-14.15 emotional landscape, but no real spoilers.
> 
> 2\. I said to [themegalosaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus): "I am not sure I even want to imagine a Sam/Cas sexy conversation for [this one](https://typhlonectes.tumblr.com/post/183680326368/silverhawk-silverhawk-the-mexican-mole-lizard). My nature kink has limits." I spoke too soon.
> 
> 3\. Title from Theodore Roethke.

“I like your penis,” says Cas.

Sam puts his coffee cup down. When conversations with Cas veer like this, he needs both hands for the metaphorical wheel. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says, “good to know.” He glances at the door, then at the clock. It’s not super early — Sam’s been sleeping better since this thing with Cas started — but it’s only a bit past eight. With any luck Dean is still asleep or in the shower and they can get the dick topic stowed before he wanders into the kitchen. “Yours is, uh, pretty great, too.” That seems only polite, and, after all, it’s true. Plus it has a hopeful ring of conversational closure. 

Cas takes a sip of his coffee.

“I was looking at pictures of Mexican mole lizards after you fell asleep,” he says. 

Sam breathes a tiny sigh of relief. Dean may mock Sam for encouraging Cas’s nature blog obsession, but sometimes Dean doesn’t know what Sam is saving him from. And mole lizards sound intriguing.

“What are Mexican mole lizards?” he asks.

“I’ll show you,” says Cas. 

Sam picks his cup back up and takes a cautious pull while Cas taps at the laptop and and then turns it towards Sam.

“Here,” he says. “They remind me of your penis.”

Sam swallows — spraying a mouthful of coffee on his laptop won’t help anything — and looks.

They’re basically worms. Worms with little faces. Worms with arms. Worms with stubby arms and tiny, creepy hands.

“Uh,” Sam says. He’s clearly failing at looking flattered, because Cas is getting that bracing, diagnostic expression he uses when he’s giving Sam Talks on how he shouldn’t feel too bad about being a fuck-up. Sam looks at the pictures again. From that angle they’re less of an insult and more of a daunting high standard. Cas isn’t human. He doesn’t necessarily have to confine his imagination to boring human genitals. He might like it if Sam’s dick could curl in snake-like loops, or if it had tiny hands it could do things with. And the mole lizards are ribbed. Sam isn’t ribbed for pleasure. It seems like what Cas sees in Sam’s dick is mostly a whole lot of stuff that isn’t there. That’s kind of depressing.

Cas smiles didactically. Sam resigns himself.

“I was also reading the works of Saint Augustine,” says Cas. “Human theology is interesting. Augustine wrote at length about penises.”

Sam’s knowledge of Saint Augustine is pretty minimal. Still, he’ll make one last try at taking the conversation in a fewer phalluses direction. He’s supposed to keep fighting. He isn’t supposed to give up. At least Augustine can’t have written about Mexican mole lizards. They’re New World fauna.

“I read a bit of _The City of God_ , once,” he says. “Giant lore. It was pretty inaccurate.” He and Dean have hunted giants twice. That should be enough for some innocuous anecdotes.

“He was wrong about penises as well. Or … mistaken in his attitude. He found his penis disconcerting. It had a mind of its own. He thought that was God’s punishment for human disobedience. I don’t think so, though.”

“Yeah, puritanism isn’t really among God’s faults,” says Sam. Though no doubt Chuck did create badly timed boners on purpose. He tries to decide if God would be a preferable subject to penises. It’s a hard call. He hadn’t thought to ask Chuck about the whys and wherefores of his dick. That would have been embarrassing. Not that Chuck had answered the questions Sam _had_ asked.

Sam isn’t choosing the current topic, anyway.

“I appreciate that about penises,” says Cas. “I appreciate that about yours. It’s characteristic of living things to be unexpected and peculiar. I find that encouraging. You know, it wasn’t the obvious points of correspondence that made me think of your penis when I saw the mole lizards. It was their faces. They looked hopeful to me. Lively. Happy.”

Maybe Cas isn’t giving a lecture. Maybe he’s asking a question. He’s glancing disconcertingly from Sam’s face to his crotch. And it’s true, Sam’s dick has a life of its own. It’s been following the conversation with interest. It would be up for bookmarking the mole lizard pictures. Which, what the fuck, but there’s no denying Sam’s dick is probably a lot more fun than Sam is most of the time. 

That’s the lesson of the mole lizards, Sam realizes. Cas doesn’t wish that Sam had tiny dick-hands. That’s not what he wants. He wants Sam to be happy. Unbrainwashed, at-home-in-the-Bunker happy. Sam’s dick is the only part that’s gotten with the program. No wonder Cas likes it. No wonder Cas has been sleeping with him.

“Morning,” says Dean from the doorway.

“Dean!” says Sam. He’s probably been this glad to see Dean before, at resurrections and when hunts have gone hairy. Those things get complicated, though. This moment is pure relief.

Dean gives them a suspicious glare.

“What are you two talking about?” he says.

“Nothing,” says Sam. Dean’s glare intensifies. “Saint Augustine of Hippo,” Sam emends hastily, “and Mexican mole lizards. Look.” He pivots the laptop. He’s willing to traumatize Dean with mole lizards to get out of this. Dean looks at the screen with undisguised distaste.

“And Sam’s penis,” says Cas.

Dean closes the laptop with a snap and a shudder and shoves it to the far end of the table.

“Conversation over,” he says. “New topic. No saints. No freaky-ass snake things. Absolutely nothing to do with my brother’s dick.”

“I have concerns about Sam and his penis,” says Cas.

“And if you go airing them here you’ll be having concerns about if you’ll live through breakfast,” says Dean. “I mean it.” Which of course he doesn’t, but Dean in threat mode is pretty convincing. “Cas, this stuff is supposed to be private between people. It’s supposed to be private between you and Sam. Sam doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to hear about it. End of story.”

It’s not that Sam will be cheering Dean on if he murders Cas, or that he wants Dean stepping in to tell Cas what Sam feels, but he’d rather not talk any more about his dick, either. And he’d _really_ rather not talk about being happy. He touches Cas’s shoulder.

“It’s OK, Cas,” he says. “We’ll talk later.” 

Cas stays pointedly silent. Sam pours more coffee and pulls the laptop back in front of him. If he finds enough hunts, later can be a long time coming. Later can be never.

Dean looks at them both but he doesn’t say anything.


End file.
